


Forbidden Lessons

by dragonwings948



Series: Doctor Who Series 10 [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Clara's song, Episode: s10e01 The Pilot, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Memories, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-10-22 17:06:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10701366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwings948/pseuds/dragonwings948
Summary: Sometimes when Bill comes to her lessons, she tries to find out more about the Doctor and his past. The Doctor, of course, always tries to steer around the subject.





	1. The Song

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this a day or two after The Pilot aired, but I was hesitant to post it because it was so soon and I wasn't sure that I got Bill quite right. It's still not perfect, for sure, but I think it turned out okay. 
> 
> This fic is honestly just proof that I'll never be over Clara. (I love Bill, though! She's amazing!!)

            Bill strolled into the Doctor’s office as the bell in the clock tower tolled the first stroke of six o’clock. She scanned quickly through the stapled packet of paper in her hands. Though she was looking for any errors she could potentially be marked off on, she also marveled that _she_ had written this paper and had devoted several hours of her life to it over the past four days. When she had started working here, she had never imagined that she would be up late writing papers like a real student. Even further from her imagination had been the man she would turn the papers in to: the tutor who she was beginning to see more as a friend and mentor rather than simply a professor.

            She had just come to the favourite part of her paper, where she devoted almost an entire page to discussing the findings of a certain article she had discovered online. “I had no idea how serious people are about this stuff,” she commented out loud as she walked through the door. “I found some research by some bloke named Charterton? Chatterten?” She began flipping back the pages to get to her sources, but she also happened to glance up just then.

            The Doctor wasn’t there.

            The sixth bell of the hour chimed.

            _I’m very particular about time._

Bill looked over the room; he always seemed to inhabit every inch of it. He was never in the same place when she walked in day after day. But this time, he simply wasn’t there. He had never been late before. Neither had she.

            The sudden sound of an electric guitar made Bill jump, and she was reminded of the first time she had walked into his office. Yet, this wasn’t the booming, dramatic theme of Beethoven’s Fifth; it was a soft and slow melody that made Bill’s heart sink right down to her toes. She let her arms drop to her sides and tiptoed to the other door she had seen him emerge from the first time he had kept her waiting. The song continued, and Bill hardly dared to breathe as she poked her head through the crack in the open door.

            She could only see his back; it was the Doctor, definitely, his head bowed as he sat on a small amp and let his fingers wander over the frets of an electric guitar. Bill thought she had never heard something so sad, and she could only wonder what kind of grief could create such a melody.

            As she took another step forward, a floorboard creaked during a pause in the song. Bill jumped back toward where she had entered his office, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her lips together. _Idiot,_ she thought to herself.

            Seconds later the Doctor strolled through the other door like nothing had happened, his arm outstretched. Bill placed her research paper in his waiting hand like she usually did, and the Doctor glanced over the first page.

            He normally said something by now. Bill was aware that she had two options: she could either ignore the fact that she had heard him, though they both knew she had been listening, or she could acknowledge it and voice her curiosity.

            “Why do you play?”

            The Doctor frowned, the sort of deep frown he got when he wanted to avoid a subject. “Why do you write these essays when you’re not a student?” He dropped the paper down on his desk and plopped into his chair.

            Bill shrugged. “Because I like doing it.”

            The Doctor raised his eyebrows and pointed at her. “Exactly.”

            “But it sounded so sad.” Bill stepped forward and sat in her chair on the other side of his desk. “Didn’t sound like you were enjoying it.”

            His frown grew deeper and he folded his hands on top of his desk. Bill knew she was crossing into the “none of your business” territory, but she wanted to try just a bit further. No one should be allowed to hurt as much as that song suggested.

            “Because you know, you talk about physics and time and space like you know everything, and it makes me forget that you’re human too.”

            One corner of the Doctor’s lips twitched into a smirk, as if he were enjoying a joke. “My humanity is a subject for a different time.”

            Bill took it to mean, “This conversation ends here.”

            “Today’s topic,” the Doctor continued as he reached under his desk and dumped a thick stack of yellowed sheet music on top, “is Beethoven.”

            Bill quirked an eyebrow at him. “I thought we were talking about the fourth dimension? You know, _time?”_

            The Doctor grinned. “Exactly.”


	2. The Photos

           The “Winter” concerto from Vivaldi’s _The Four Seasons_ filled up the Doctor’s spacious office with virtuosic violin playing. The Doctor smiled to himself as the piece transitioned into the third movement. It was his favourite, especially because it had been the most fun to play as concertmaster. He closed his eyes and remembered the stifling heat in the concert hall, gripping the bow in his slick hands, watching Antonio Vivaldi guide the orchestra and waiting for his entrance with his heartbeats thumping in his ears.

            A loud clang from the bell tower signaled six o’ clock. The Doctor shook away the memory, jumped into his desk chair, and rifled through the stack of papers on his desk in order to find the one essay he wanted.

            Ah, there it was. _Bill Potts._ He pulled out the stapled packet of papers and smiled at the marking written in red at the top. It was no surprise she was good; that’s why he had chosen her. Some of the facts were questionable, of course, but that was because she was limited to the information available on 21st century Earth. What really stood out about her paper from all of the other students he had in his classes was her pure enthusiasm.

            The fifth bell chimed. The Doctor looked up from the paper and raised an eyebrow at the empty seat in front of him. She had never been late before.

            He heard her before the last stroke of six o’ clock, but there was something wrong. Her footsteps were heavy on the floorboards. She walked slowly, just making it through the door as the last bell finished ringing. Her smile was weary. Yet, when her eyes met his, her expression lifted the tiniest bit.

            “Hey,” Bill said, dropping into the seat on the other side of the desk.

            “Hey.” The Doctor sat back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. He couldn’t help but take in the state of her; studying and knowing facial expressions was ingrained in him after spending all that time with…

            His gaze drifted to River’s photo on his desk but he forced his eyes to meet Bill’s before he could think about it too much. “Are you okay?” he asked.

            Bill frowned and then shrugged, casting her gaze downwards. “Doesn’t really matter.”

            The Doctor leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of his desk. “Yes, it does.”

            Bill looked at him and her frown deepened, as if she hadn’t expected that response. But then her expression relaxed and she tapped her fingers lightly on the edge of the desk before speaking to him again.

            “Do you ever have one of those days were everything just goes wrong, no matter what you do?”

            The Doctor couldn’t even begin to count the number of days like that he had experienced. “Of course I have. Everyone has days like that.”

            Bill let out a short, heartless chuckle. “Yeah, like I said. Doesn’t matter.”

            “But just because it happens to everyone it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.” He looked down at her paper and handed it to her before he got too involved with human emotions. “Here.”

            Curiosity taking over her features, Bill took the paper in her hand and smiled. She looked up at the Doctor. “Really?”

            “You earned it.” For some reason, his eyes were drawn to Susan’s photo. He had never been good at cheering _her_ up; that had been Ian and Barbara’s department. But he had grown up since then. If he saw her again, would he be a better grandfather now?

            “Who are they?”

            Bill’s voice snapped the Doctor out of his thoughts. He shook his head. He was in a strangely reminiscent mood today.

            “The two women in the photos,” Bill continued. “I see you looking at them all the time, even when you think I don’t notice.”

            The Doctor frowned and let out a sigh through his nose. Bill wouldn’t understand that they were the ones who kept his hearts beating, who reminded him of who he was. They were so much more than he could ever explain, but in the simplest terms…

            “Family.”

            He stared down at his hands. What would Bill think of him if she knew that he had left his granddaughter with an empty promise and knowingly let his wife travel to the library where she was doomed to die?

            Bill wouldn’t know. She’d never know. This was as close as he could get: giving lessons, chatting, exchanging Christmas gifts. She was his student, not his companion.

            He had made a promise.

            “I’m sorry,” Bill said softly.

            He looked back up at her and saw compassion in her eyes. He knew she could empathise; she had lost her mother, after all. And even after that, after the bad day she had experienced, _compassion._

            The Doctor smiled at her. “So, what do you want to talk about today?”

            Bill’s eyebrows shot up to her forehead. “You mean I get to pick?”

            “You seemed interested in string theory.” He nodded at the paper in her hands.

            Her eyes brightened and her lips stretched into a small smile. “Yeah, it sounds cool but I don’t really get it.”

            The Doctor jumped out of his chair and dashed to one of the bookshelves. He heard Bill’s footsteps follow behind him as he scanned the spines of the books for the one he was looking for.

            “Is this going to turn into a lesson on Romantic poetry again?”

            The Doctor’s eyes scanned over a volume of Wordsworth and he contemplated handing it to Bill just to see how she would react. However, he passed over it and finally found the right book. He grabbed its thick spine from the shelf and turned to offer it to Bill.

            “String theory,” he said, smiling even wider at her hesitant expression when she saw the book.

            She still grabbed it, nonetheless, and opened to the first page. Her brow furrowed. “Did you write this?”

            The Doctor ignored the question and reached back to grab the Wordsworth volume as well. He showed Bill the spine of the book and grinned as she raised an eyebrow at him. “Let’s get started.”  

           


	3. The Screwdrivers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the positive feedback on this fic! I'm so glad you all have enjoyed it. 
> 
> That being said, I think this is probably the last chapter of this particular fic. However, I've been toying with the idea of creating a similar multi-chapter fic that takes place after The Pilot when Bill knows a little more about the Doctor. We'll see! 
> 
> For now, please enjoy this chapter! :)

****

            “Have you got a pen I could borrow?” Bill dug around in her bag and frowned. There _had_ been in a pen in here earlier, she knew it.

            Bill looked up, waiting for his response, but the Doctor seemed to be engrossed in searching for a specific book on his bookshelf. She looked over his desk for a pen and spotted something she had noticed before: a cup full of strange pen-like objects.

            “Are these pens?”

            She began reaching towards the cup and almost simultaneously the Doctor spun around and ran to the desk. “Don’t touch those!”

            Bill raised her hands in the air. “ _O_ kay…?” she said, stretching out the first syllable. “Fine, not touching them.”

            The Doctor gave her a tremendous frown that involved the help of his bushy eyebrows to make his expression look even more disapproving. Bill crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against her chair.

            “I’m guessing they’re not pens then. What are they?”

            “It’s not important.” But as he looked at them Bill knew from the look in his eyes that at the least, they were important to _him,_ whatever they were. She wished she could see the memories that were flashing into his mind. Why did he have so many secrets?

            “What _is_ important,” he continued, becoming his usual animated self as he ran back towards his bookshelf, “is the subject of black holes.”

            “I still don’t have a pen to take notes with,” Bill reminded him, watching his eccentric behaviour with a smile. She was still curious, of course. She was always curious about him. But she had known him for long enough to know that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with questions.      

            Finally the Doctor grabbed a book off the shelf and came back to his desk. He set the book down and plopped into his chair, reaching inside his jacket pocket. A thoughtful frown painted his features and his eyes rolled upward.

            Bill chuckled at the sight. “How much stuff can you have in that pocket?”

            His eyebrows jumped halfway to his hairline. “You’d be surprised.” He switched to the other side of his jacket and continued digging.

            “Are you like Mary Poppins, then?”

            The Doctor turned his gaze on her, a question in his eyes.

            “You know, she has that carpet bag that’s bigger on the inside.” She watched the Doctor freeze for just a second, his eyes growing a little wider. It was the look someone had when they were found out. But before Bill could wonder further about it, the Doctor grinned and produced a thin black pen.

            “Ah, there it is.”

            Bill took it from him and watched him carefully. All of the previous emotion was wiped clean from his face. It was unfair how good he was at hiding his emotions. Either that, or he had already moved on and forgotten about it.

            “Black holes!” The Doctor flipped open the book he had grabbed and turned it around to show Bill a diagram of a black hole.

            Bill studied the page, but it didn’t make much sense without any context. “Are they actually real?”

            “Oh yes. Very real.”

            He said it with the conviction of someone who had seen one in person. “How do you know?” she asked, looking up at him.

            He spread his hands and grinned. “I’m your teacher. I know everything.”


End file.
